


wait and count to four

by iamsiriuslyriddikulus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsiriuslyriddikulus/pseuds/iamsiriuslyriddikulus
Summary: After the events of Endgame, Steve leaves, unable to cope with the grief, and Bucky has to learn to pick up the pieces. But while others are able to move on, Bucky can't let it go.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	wait and count to four

Steve is unusually quiet. Bucky keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, watching him push his food around his plate until he sets his fork down.

“It’s not your—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve interrupts, his tone cold. He lowers his voice and frowns. “Sorry, I just don’t feel like getting into it right now.”

He’s never seen Steve like this. He’s always gotten up when hit, and no matter how hard things get, he’s never given up. But now–now’s different. Bucky grabs both of their plates and clears the table. “We still have some leftover pie,” he says, but Steve shakes his head.

“You don’t need to try so hard.”

“I’m not trying anything.” Before he can step over to Steve, Steve gets up and moves out of the kitchen, toward their bedroom. With a sigh, Bucky leans against the counter. The door to their bedroom slams shut, but a moment later it reopens.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” He makes his way over to Steve. “You’re fine. You really don’t need to apologize.” For a moment, it looks like Steve is going to step back into the room and ignore him again, but his resolve crumples, and he instead falls forward into Bucky's arms.

“Fuck,” he says, and with that, he starts to shake. Bucky doesn’t know how long they stand there, his hand rubbing up and down Steve’s back, but eventually Steve steps back, his eyes red and puffy. “I know we won, but why does it feel like we lost?”

Bucky’s never been good at this. It’s always been Steve’s job to cut through the darkness with some sharp, warm remark. He’s always had a silver lining in his back pocket, even at their worst. Bucky, on the other hand, has always been too pulled into his own thoughts. There’s an art to finding the right words, and he’s never been able to figure it out.

“Tell me what you need,” he says instead.

Steve’s eyes meet his, and he pauses a moment before pressing their lips together. Their teeth bump hard enough to hurt, and Bucky whimpers as Steve bites at his lower lip, leaving a metallic taste in their mouths. Steve’s hands grasp at his shirt, his knuckles white from the force. Words, apparently, are the last thing Steve wants.

Bucky nearly trips backwards as Steve shoves him up against the wall. He braces himself for the impact but still winces when the back of his head slams against it. His hand dips under Steve’s shirt, and he pulls Steve closer against him by the small of his back, but Steve pushes it away. He pulls back, Bucky’s lower lip between his teeth for a moment before he lets go. “I want to…” Instead of finishing the sentence, he drops down to his knees and tugs Bucky’s sweats down in one motion. “I’m sorry about your head,” he mumbles, and Bucky wants to tell him that it’s okay, but his voice gets caught in his throat as Steve runs his thumb from the head of his cock down until he brushes against his perineum, making Bucky’s hips jerk.

“Do you remember that night when we at the fair, and you kept on flirting with the girl you brought, and when we got back, I couldn’t keep my hands off of you? But you were so much bigger than me, and no matter how rough I got, I knew I must have looked—must have felt—so insignificant.”

“You were never insignificant,” Bucky says. Things got muddled after HYDRA—more than he wants to admit—but when Steve looks up at him, his eyes dark, and his lips slightly parted, Bucky suddenly remembers.

“You made me come five times that night,” Steve says. “I don’t know if I ever returned the favor.” His nails dig into Bucky’s ass, and he wraps his lips around Bucky’s cock. Bucky reaches for Steve’s hair. Without missing a beat, Steve grabs it by the wrist and pins it to the wall. With his free hand, Steve runs fingers along Bucky’s perineum again before cupping his balls.

Bucky’s head falls against the wall, and he thrusts his hips forward, his breath catching in his throat as Steve takes him all the way down. Steve sets up a steady pace, pausing only occasionally to his tongue over the head of Bucky’s cock, and Bucky knows that he won’t last long. When he tries again for Steve’s hair, Steve’s fingers tighten against his wrist hard enough that he winces, but Steve doesn’t relent.

The head of Bucky’s cock pops out of his mouth, and all Bucky can do is stare down, breath caught in his throat. Steve looks obscene—a small bit of spit on his chin and lips puffy, but he ducks down before Bucky’s done taking him in and runs his tongue over Bucky’s balls before taking them into his mouth.

Bucky jerks and thrashes, somehow overly sensitive before he’s even had a chance to come, and Steve pulls back, smirking. “I bet I could make you come now without even touching you again.” His mouth hovers, lewdly open, over Bucky’s cock. This close, Bucky can feel each breath against him, and when Steve’s eyes meet his, Bucky comes, tossing his head back against the wall for a second time.

Steve looks pornographic with white streaks on his face. He reaches up and wipes them off into his sleeve before standing up and tossing his shirt across the room. Wordlessly, he steps over to the kitchen. “What are you doing?” Bucky asks, but Steve’s determined look lets him know that he’s not getting an answer. His brow furrows when he sees Steve reach for the olive oil, but it becomes clear where it’s going quickly when Steve uncaps it and pours some over his fingers, ignoring as it drips onto the counter below.

“Spread your legs and face the wall.”

Bucky swallows thickly, but flips over, hands splayed against the wall. His eyes follow Steve as he steps back over, and his breath hitches when he feels the cold, slick fingers run back along his taint and stop just at his hole.

Bucky’s eyes close, and he sucks his cheek, biting down, but nothing happens. “Steve?”

“Is this okay? Is it too much?”

Bucky shakes his head and twists back as best as he can in his current position. “No, I want it.” His eyes flutter open, and he can’t quite place Steve’s expression, but before he has a chance to, it darkens, and two fingers press in.

Bucky whines, his fingers curling into fists, and leans his forehead back against the wall. It takes him a moment to adjust, but not long.

Steve leans in, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s neck before taking the lobe of Bucky’s ear between his teeth, biting down and then soothing it with his tongue. “I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers,” Steve breaths against him, and Bucky’s knees almost buckle underneath him.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to pool in his stomach as he rocks up and down. He can only imagine how he looks to Steve, but Steve is silent. He places his free hand on Bucky’s hip to guide him. When Steve curls his fingers deep inside of him, Bucky comes with a breathy moan, and Steve’s arm wraps around him, propping him up as he collapses against the wall and whimper.

His fingers pull out with a wet pop, and Bucky whimpers, feeling empty. When he finally catches his breath, he turns around, and Steve captures his lips in a kiss. Their bodies press against each other, and Bucky lets out a quiet “ _oh_.” Even through Steve’s pants, Bucky can feel Steve against him, hard.

“Can I fuck you? I want to fuck you,” Steve says against his lips. His cock twitches painfully, and against his better judgment, he nods.

“Can we just go to the bedroom?” he asks, and Steve nods and presses one final kiss to Bucky’s jaw before stepping towards the room. Bucky follows. Steve wastes no time in getting undressed, and Bucky’s eyes trace down until he sees Steve’s cock against his stomach, precum glistening at the head. Bucky drops to his knees, and Steve’s gaze darkens.

Steve’s nails dig into his scalp as he takes him down to the base until his nose is buried in light brown pubes. Bucky’s thumbs run along the v shape of Steve’s hip bones, and he closes his eyes when Steve’s hips jerk forward. Before long, however, Steve’s fingers slip out of his hair, and he pulls back.

“I don’t want to come like this,” he says between heavy breaths. His eyes linger for a moment at Bucky’s mouth, still wrapped around the head of his cock. “I want to fuck you.” Before Bucky can protest, he continues, “All fours. On the bed.”

Bucky stands up and makes his way over to the bed.

\- - -

When he rolls over to an empty mattress, Bucky wakes up. He rubs his eyes, trying to adjust to the dark and looks in the direction of their bathroom, but the lights are off. “Steve?” he calls out, but there’s no response. “Steve?”

Bucky’s heart drops at the silence, and a knot in his throat starts to form. He scrambles up, shaking his head, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knows what’s going on. Bucky isn’t even entirely sure how it could have happened. After all, he’s a light enough sleeper that passing by cars wake up most nights.

But the bathroom is empty, as is their living room and kitchen. Bucky throws on his t-shirt and sweats and is about to go into the hallway when he sees the note on the door.

_Bucky,_

_In an ideal world, this letter would be much longer. But I know you, and if I make any noise or take too long, you’ll surely wake up. I'm taking all the stupid with me so that you can't do anything I wouldn't approve of. All I ask is that you don’t come looking for me._

_Yours,  
_ _Steve_

The note drops from his hands as he throws open the door to their apartment and starts running.

\- - -

Bucky isn’t sure how long he runs for or where he’s even going, but when the sun starts to rise, he makes it to Sam’s apartment. He hits the door with his fist, thinking he’ll surely have to wake him, but the door opens within seconds.

“He’s not com—” Sam cuts off as he sees Bucky’s feet. “Jesus, you look like a mess.” Bucky glances down and realizes for the first time that he’s forgotten to wear shoes. With the adrenaline wearing off, he can feel the cuts on his feet and see the bruises. As bad as it must look, he knows they’ll heal fast enough.

“Where is he?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know. He came by and said you would be here at some point soon.”

“He talked to you?” Bucky asks, feeling bubble of laughter rise in his throat. “Bullshit.”

Sam sighs before opening his door wider and motioning for Bucky to come in. “Just rub your feet on the mat or something because you’re going to get dirt—” But Bucky ignores him and steps in anyway. When Sam makes an indignant sound, he pushes past him, bumping their shoulders together, and Sam deflates, motioning to the couch.

Bucky’s head spins as he sits down, the exhaustion from the last few hours suddenly hitting him, and Sam must sense it because he makes his way over to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. It takes him a moment before he looks over to the armchair and sees it. “That’s his shield,” he says.

Sam comes back and rubs his hand against the back of his neck, glancing slightly past Bucky. “Yeah, I know.”

“What’s his shield doing here?”

“He gave it to me.”

\- - -

“That’s an order, Agent Barnes. You’re not going to look for him,” Fury says.

“I don’t answer to you. Steve never did. Besides, if Romanoff were here—”

“I’d be careful what you say next,” Bruce says. He’s been quiet since they convened, staring down at the floor. Bucky hadn’t even been sure that he was listening, but he knows better than to say anything else about Natasha.

“And what do you plan to accomplish by looking for him? If you can even find him—” Fury begins, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I know I can.

“He doesn’t want to be found,” Clint says. “Let the guy be alone. When he wants to, he’ll come back.”

“You don’t understand. If he left his shield, he’s not coming back.” Bucky glances across the room at all of them. T’Challa frowns. “Did you help him?” Bucky asks, and the moment he steps forward, Sam jumps between them.

“No one helped him. He wanted to leave. It’s not your fault, Barnes. It’s not any of ours.” Sam places a hand on his shoulder, and when their eyes meet, Bucky feels his throat constrict. The words sink in. Steve is gone.

\- - -

He spends the better part of two years looking for Steve, but the closest he gets is an empty room in Belarus. It’s hard to tell exactly, but Bucky’s best guess is that it was abandoned a day ago. It’s nondescript and small, with nothing but a mattress and a kitchen, but Bucky knows that Steve lived here, even if he has nothing to prove it.

Steve knows what he’s doing. He’s a ghost, always several days ahead of what Bucky has planned. By the time he hears whispers, it’s too late. Steve’s long left for somewhere new.

Nonetheless, Bucky keeps going from one lead to another. With each one, he recoups and launches into the next. _Like a mission_ , he tells himself, _completed and onto the next_. It becomes a muscle, reflexive. He knows that the moment he stops, it’ll all come crashing down.

That moment comes in Angola. A lead turns out to have been planted by Fury—an intervention. He knows it the moment he sees T’Challa from behind, fifteen feet away, but they have him circled.

“It’s gone on long enough,” Sam says. The shield—Steve’s shield—is tucked onto his back, and before he can think, Bucky punches him.

“You don’t get to wear it.”

Sam hits him right back without a moment’s hesitation, and everyone stops, uneasy. “Well, tough shit, Barnes. He gave it to me, so it’s not for you to decide.”

“If you put any resources to finding him, maybe we wouldn’t be here,” Bucky says. He wipes the blood from his lip onto the sleeve of his jacket and spits out the remaining blood. It’s a losing battle, and he knows it. He sees Clint step forward out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m not going to run if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, turning to face him.

“You can never be too careful.” Clint lifts up both hands, but his stance doesn’t loosen up.

“Fuck you, Barton.”

“You need to give it up,” Sam says. “I know it’s not fair, and I know you want to find him, but Steve’s not coming back. He doesn’t want to. It’s not about you. It’s not about Fury. Or anyone here. It’s about all the shit that’s happened. But he asked you not to go looking for him. You have to let him go.”

The world folds in on itself, and Bucky closes his eyes, counting backwards from seven in his head. His chest tightens, and his fingers form small balls. When he opens his eyes, he clenches his jaw, wishing he could shrink away from prying eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to join my team. I could use another person,” Sam says.

\- - -

Bucky narrows misses a punch, instead grabbing Gallows’s arm and twisting it. He moves out of the way as the shield goes flying, but Gallows pulls back. Before Bucky can go after him, he picks up his .45 and fires back. Bucky ducks and curses as Gallows jumps down.

“Barnes, don’t get rusty on me,” Sam calls out before running over, grabbing the shield, and jumping down after him, expanding his wings.

“Asshole,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He sighs and makes his way to follow.

\- - -

“Are you going to the holiday party?” Sam asks. Bucky looks over and stares vacantly. It doesn’t seem a good idea to bring together all superheroes under one roof, but he’s certain they’ve thought through the logistics more than he has. “Yeah, not sure if I should either,” Sam says with a small laugh.

“I see everyone enough as it is. It can’t possibly be fun.”

“Tony used to throw them. They certainly were fun then, but his idea of a party is a little different than Bruce’s.”

The silence falls over them again, and Bucky can almost hear Sam squirming in his seat before he decides to take pity on him. “I’ve heard about Tony’s parties,” he says. “Steve mentioned them."

Sam tenses beside him and focuses his attention on his hands. “What did he say?”

“Relax, Wilson. Contrary to popular belief, you all are allowed to mention him around me, and I won’t lose my mind.”

“We weren’t avoiding saying his name around you,” Sam says, and Bucky scoffs. When he glances at Sam out of the corner of his eyes, Sam folds. “It wasn’t intentional. Listen, man, you went a little crazy back there."

“Steve never gave up on me. I didn’t want to give up on him.”

The door opens, sparing him having to give a response, and Fury marches in.

"Herald's politics are getting more brazen, and our intel tells us that he's been working with Gallows. We’re not sure yet in what capacity, but we want to nip it in the bud before we have time to figure it out.”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath. Work he can do.

\- - -

He meets Pax at a club. Something about the hunger in his eyes makes Bucky feel exposed in a way he hasn’t in years. They dance for two songs before making their way to the bathroom.

He stares at his hands, splayed against the stall wall, as Pax fucks him. The smell of stale alcohol overwhelms the small space, and Bucky closes his eyes and pushes back. “I can take more,” he says through gritted teeth, and Pax’s nails dig into his hip as fucks him harder.

It’s not enough and too much, and Bucky comes with a choked gasp against the stall wall and his stomach. He cleans himself up, but when Pax reaches for the handle, he reaches out and stops him. “Can I blow you too?” he asks.

Pax looks surprised but doesn’t complain, and when Bucky drops down to his knees and Pax’s fingers reach for his hair, he can almost forget everything else.

\- - -

His tracker hasn’t pinged in three years, but a notification waits for him when he gets home. Bucky plugs it into his computer and waits as it connects to the broader network. It takes a while for the photos and location to load.

His breath catches in his throat. Even blurry and under with his shaggy hair, the proof is undeniable. Bucky knows it’s Steve.

He packs quickly, taking only what he needs. His heart pounds against his chest, and he stumbles as he feels a rush to his head. For a moment he pauses. His eyes flicker to his phone on his counter, and he pauses before dropping his duffel bag.

His hands shake as he picks up his phone, and the buzzing in his ears intensifies. Moments like these, of high stress, have always given him a phantom ache in his left elbow, and now is no different. He rolls his shoulder and frowns before hitting the dial button.

It takes Sam 15 minutes to get there, and they barely say anything until he shows Sam the photo. “Son of a bitch.” Sam rubs the back of his neck, and Bucky’s gaze lingers on the photo, pixelated as it is. “Fury wouldn’t approve of you leaving like this—you know.”

“I was hoping you’d come with me.” Sam’s eyes widen, and bends over, looking closely at the photo.

“Fury will kill both of us.”

“I know, but I have to. I’ve never had him like this. If he’s being this reckless, maybe I have a chance to find him.”

“It’ll take us almost a full day to get to—” He squints as he stares at the location’s name on the screen. “—Makassar, Indonesia.” Sam lets out a low whistle. He considers for a moment. “I’ll go under one condition.” His hand feels steadier, and Bucky clears his throat and nods. “If we don’t find him, you promise to stop this. It’s been over eight years since Steve left.”

His shoulders feel heavy, but he does it best to keep his face expressionless. “Fine.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

The flight is long and turbulent, and with each passing second, Bucky feels the knot in his stomach grow. When they land, it doesn’t take them long to find someone who will speak and points them to an apartment near the central market.

But the apartment is empty. It’s been lived in more than any other place Bucky has ever seen, and the fridge is half-stocked. But the dresser drawers are open and empty in the bedroom. Bucky looks for any clues and asks everyone in the building if they know where Steve left, but after two days, they’re still empty-handed.

“Bucky, it’s time to go home,” Sam says. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

They do one last sweep of Steve’s former apartment, and Bucky hits the wall hard enough that the floor shakes beneath them.

\- - -

Bucky goes with Sam to the bar every once in a while. The alcohol is pointless for him, but he enjoys the atmosphere—dim and private. It’s better than either of their apartments, where the silence is more palpable.

He notices it a split second too late. Their bartender, Jack, smirks as Sam takes a sip of his beer. Bucky lunges at him and pins his chest to the ground with his knee. His fist hovers over Jack’s face, but he begins to laugh. “You’ll kill me before I tell you anything,” he says. “Oh, and Tom Herald and Paul Keane send their regards.” Bucky knocks him out cold and calls Fury.

They take Jack away in a separate car, but before Bucky can protest, Sam loses consciousnesses. They make it into the ambulance, and Bucky sits to the side, staring at the oxygen mask on his face, trying to count his own breaths. The paramedics’ words blur into each other, and Bucky swallows thickly. By the time they arrive to the S.H.I.E.L.D. underground bunker where they plan on treating him, Bucky is certain he’s going to throw up.

“Did you know him?” Fury asks.

“Jack’s been our bartender for at least three years.” Bucky paces back and forth and taps his metal hand against the side of his thigh in a steady rhythm. “We have to get them.”

Fury frowns and shakes his head. “They’re expecting us to be reckless right now. I don’t need you playing into their trap. We approach this when we’re ready. And that might mean needing to call in a few people.” He glances beyond the glass at Sam, and Bucky feels his stomach sink.

“This isn’t some political game of chess,” Bucky says. “I can take them.”

“Stand down. That’s an order, Barnes.” Fury’s expression is hard and serious, and Bucky turns to face Sam as well. He looks smaller like this—splayed out on the hospital bed with a tube down his throat

“This is bullshit.”

“If Agent Wilson wakes up, he will be thankful you’re still around. And I don’t think he’d appreciate finding out that you jeopardized his mission.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Bucky can see Fury staring at him. Then, he turns and leaves.

Other people filter in and out, but Bucky stays. Peter sits with him for half a day before getting up. “You have to get home. Staying here isn’t helping anyone.” The feeling of guilt won’t stop gnawing at him, and it only makes matters worse when Sam’s condition hits the news.

“You go home, kid,” he says, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Haven’t been a kid in a while, Barnes.”

After the second day, they tell him Sam is in stable condition, and he lets out a long breath. Nonetheless, it’ll likely be a day until he wakes up, and one of the nurses finally convinces him that it’ll do both him and Sam more good if Bucky’s well-rested when Sam wakes up. In the shower, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on the sound of the water around him, but his mind won’t stop wandering.

With every _what if_ , the guilt comes back piece by piece, and it hits him like a punch to the gut that this work has become too much. For the first time, it strikes him that another loss is inevitable, and nausea bubbles up in his stomach.

He falls into a hard sleep for nine hours and makes his way back to the hospital. Sam wakes up soon after.

\- - -

He lets Fury and Sam know that as soon as they catch Herald, Keane, and Gallows, he is out. Despite their raised eyebrows, they don’t push back.

It takes the better part of six months to pull the plans together, but they come together. HYDRA and Keane fuel money into Herald’s campaign, and the larger his platform gets, the more strategic they need to be. In the end, it takes their combined strengths to find his weak spot. Scott breaks into Herald’s office and plants a bug, which they use to go live with a recording of Herald discussing with Gallows a plan to execute Sam.

As expected, it gets them to drop their guard as they attempt to mitigate the chaos.

Bucky has the pleasure of getting Gallows. His fingers tighten around his neck as Gallows tries to reach out for his pistol. For a moment, Bucky lets himself imagine pushing too hard and wonders if he’d be able to play it off as a mistake. Instead, he stops himself when Gallows passes out.

Keane offers the most resistance, and despite their best efforts, a few bodies are left in the wake, including Keane’s. Sam captures Herald. “There are more like me out there, you know,” he says, spitting at the ground besides Sam as they handcuff him.

“Oh, I’m sure. But at least now they have a warning,” Sam says.

It takes a few days for the air to clear and the dust to settle, but when it does, the finality of it hits Bucky. He’s never imagined he’d make it to retirement, but somewhere next to the overwhelming fear, he feels something else—a type of hope.

“So this is it?” Sam asks him.

“This is it.” The silence sits between them, and Bucky shoves his hand in his pocket, trying to push back the urge to be sentimental. “Media’s been focusing pretty heavily on you. Think you’ll manage?”

“I’ll make it work.” Sam smiles. “Don’t go out there and get reckless on me again, Barnes.”

“I’ll try my best.”

\- - -

Bucky hears when Nick Fury dies in his sleep from Sam several years after he leaves. _Always thought he’d go out in a blaze of glory, but I’m glad he didn’t._ With it comes an address for the funeral.

Bucky stands in the back behind the others. He’s never been one for crowds. Too many people make him anxious. In the warm air, his collar itches under his button-up and jacket, and Bucky pops it undone before taking a deep breath.

He lingers, hands deep in his pockets as everybody talks afterwards. There’s a lingering unease that he can’t quite shake, like they’re being watched. But when he looks around, he can’t see anything. “Do you want to grab dinner?” Sam asks when everyone has mostly cleared out. “It’s been a while.” Bucky’s eyes flicker up to Sam’s hair, graying, and Sam shakes his head and laughs. “Not all of us have serum to keep us young and fit. You don’t have to rub it in.”

He laughs, and against the silent reverie of the graveyard, it seems out of place. “How about tomorrow for dinner?” Bucky says.

Sam steps away, but Bucky lingers. He’s certain he saw something moving in the distance by the trees. Before he can think it through, Bucky begins to run. And sure enough, a figure emerges and begins to run as well.

If there was any doubt in his mind before, it evaporates, and he speeds up, ignoring the burning in his lungs. He’s not letting Steve get away. He isn’t sure at first, but soon enough, he can feel the distance between them narrowing.

Tunnel vision must have taken over, Bucky realizes when a car blares its horn. He places his hand on the hood and jumps up, gliding over the top of it, and Steve, a few paces ahead, weaves between them. Only when he’s close enough that he’s certain Steve will be able to hear, Bucky yells out Steve’s name, and Steve falters.

It’s a fraction of a second, but it’s enough, and Bucky tackles him to the sidewalk.

Beneath him, Steve struggles for a moment before lying limp. Without loosening his grip, Bucky lifts his head, and any words get caught in his throat. When Steve’s eyes meet his, his breath hitches. After all this time, a simple look still makes him feel sixteen all over again—like all has been laid bare for the first time.

“Hey there, Buck.” Steve’s voice is different than he remembers, gruffer and deeper. Bucky lets go. After all these years, Steve doesn’t feel real.

\- - -

They sit on the couch like strangers, a cushion in between them. Bucky breaks the silence. “How have you been?”

“Tired,” Steve says, and he stares down at his lap as he taps his index finger against his thigh.

“You look—” Bucky takes Steve in. Steve’s hair is longer than he’s ever seen it, but there’s something deeper that he can’t quite place, something harder and unfamiliar. “You look different.”

Steve laughs and looks up. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just different.” Bucky wants to reach out and take Steve’s hand into his, but the divide between them swallows him whole instead, and he rubs at the back of his neck instead.

“Thanks—I guess.” The silence falls them again, amplifying everything, and Bucky fiddles with his hands, unsure where to place them. The silence between them used to be easy. This wraps around them both like a wet blanket. Steve tenses his muscles as if ready to get up at a moment’s notice.

“Where all did you go?” Bucky asks.

“I think it’d be easier to tell you where I didn’t go. I was all over the place. I think the longest I ever stayed anywhere was four months.” Steve’s lips quirk up. “Four months and three days in Makassar.”

Bucky’s mouth dries up. “How did you know about us?”

“I could feel it. I got too comfortable. And then one day, I could swear I was being watched. I don’t know what it was, but after that long, you just know.” Bucky’s knows the sensation—the prickle at the back of your neck, the unsettling discomfort. “I couldn’t have left more than a few hours before you got there.” Steve looks apologetic. “I debated giving up then, but I just couldn’t.”

He wants to ask why, but Bucky is almost certain that he wouldn’t like the answer.

“I like the new place,” Steve says, motioning around. “When did you move?”

“Two years after you left.” Bucky bites the inside of his cheek before continuing. “At first, I thought if I just kept our apartment, you’d be able to find me. I don’t know why you wouldn’t otherwise, but it was like that was it. Like one day I’d come home, and you’d have come to your senses and would be there.” He laughs, but it sounds hollow even to him. “Of course, I wouldn’t have even been there if you had been. I was off trying to find you.”

“What made you stop?” Steve asks.

“Fury pulled an intervention, and I was back here. I couldn’t stand the place anymore, so I moved.”

“And you’ve been here all this time?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods. “You never lived with anyone?” The question lingers, and Bucky feels a burning sensation creep up the back of his neck. Steve looks horrified. “Have you had anyone?”

Bucky snorts. “Had anyone? Like a lover? No. I hooked up with a few people if that’s what you mean, but it never felt important.” Steve’s brow furrows. “How about you? I’m guessing that you didn’t had time for lovers on the run.” He means it as a joke, but Steve glances away, and Bucky’s stomach knots. “Oh.”

“Not many. There were a few when I had time to settle for longer.”

He hates the way his muscles instinctively tense. Twenty-one years is a long time, and even though he knows that he has no right to feel jealous, Bucky feels his cheeks heating up.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Steve says. “I just didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Bucky wants to snap back at him that if Steve did not want him to be lonely, he never should have left. Instead, he clenches his jaw and says nothing. He can feel the blood rushing between his ears, but he turns to turns to Steve and does his best to relax. “I never thought about it that way,” he says and stands up. “I’m going to cook dinner. Pork chop and roasted potatoes sound okay?”

“Sounds great.”

Things get better after dinner, though the distance between them still lingers. Steve shares a few stories, as does Bucky. “I almost came back when I saw what happened to Sam,” Steve admits.

“What stopped you?” Bucky asks.

“I was remote when it happened, so it came to me with a bit of a delay. By the time I got to a major city, they were saying that he was going to make it.”

The thought has never once crossed Bucky that Steve might have come sooner, and the realization makes his throat dry. Bucky wants to ask if there was ever a reason that he considered coming back related to him, but he knows the answer will only make the ache in his chest grow. If there had been, Steve would have come.

The sun rises when they finally decide to go to sleep. Bucky suggests that Steve take his bed and offers to take the couch himself, but Steve refuses, insisting on taking the couch. For a moment, he considers offering to share, but he cannot bear to feel estranged lying that close to him. If Steve expects differently, he doesn’t show it.

\- - -

Nothing in particular wakes up. There’s no noise; Bucky’s sure of it. The sun filters through the blinds, filling the room with a warm glow, and for a second, Bucky almost forgets that the past day hasn’t been a dream.

A twisting feeling in his stomach alerts him that something’s wrong, and Bucky doesn’t bother throwing on a shirt before stepping out into the living room. Steve’s hand is already on the handle to the front door, and he doesn’t mean to shout out, but it comes out anyway. “No.”

Steve freezes. “Bucky, you’re up.”

“You can’t leave, not again. I won’t let you.”

Steve’s eyes seem cloudy, like he’s not quite there. Though he doesn’t say anything, his hand begins to turn the handle. “I’m sorry. I have to.”

“ _Please_.” His voice breaks, but no matter how much he wants to, he can’t find it in himself to move. Nothing about Steve is like he remembered—not his expression nor his posture. It’s all somebody else, and Bucky can barely stand it. “If go now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”

Steve’s stays on the handle, but his voice wavers. “Don’t say that. You have to.”

Bucky can feel the color rush from his face, and he shakes his head as his stomach sinks. “You left me after we lost some of our friends, and you disappeared. And I couldn’t find you, Steve.” Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky bristles and begins to shake. His mouth feels dry, and the hopelessness gives way to something else. “Worse than that, you knew I was looking for you. I came so close, but you just ran and just left me there to pick up all the pieces by myself. You left me, and I’m not going to let you just walk out of my life again because I know I’ll never see you again, and I just can’t live with that.” Bucky stops and swallows thickly.

Steve's eyes widen, and for the first time, he’s almost familiar. “You’re right.” The silence lingers until Steve’s hand drops. “Fuck.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose and falls back against the door. His shoulders shake, and it takes Bucky a moment to realize that Steve is crying. “I’m sorry. It only got harder to run from you each time.” His chest shakes as he takes a deep breath. “I’m so fucking tired.”

Bucky steps forward, and when he meets Steve, Steve folds into him. Bucky’s head falls to the crook of Steve’s neck, and for the first time in twenty years, Bucky feels like he can breathe.

“I’ll stop—or I’ll try to. I can’t promise. I don’t know if I know how _not_ to run anymore,” Steve says.

“I’ll teach you.” Bucky leans his head against Steve’s.

“It’s not like that, Bucky.”

“I know exactly what it’s like.” His voice comes out harsher than he intends, and Steve pulls back. “After what happened with HYDRA, I felt it too. Like the only thing you can do to deal with all of it is to keep running. I barely knew who I was. You found me, and you pulled me back.”

The realization settles on Steve’s face, and his hand drops down to Bucky’s taking it in. His thumb traces over each knuckle on Bucky’s fist methodically, and in the room’s silence, Bucky can hear him breathing. “I’ll try. It’s all I can promise.”

\- - -

Bucky traces his finger over a white line half an inch thick on Steve’s left side. “What happened?” It’s more than just that. There are several scars that Bucky has never seen before.

“Things weren’t always easy. Some people recognized me and didn’t like me.” He places his hand on top of Bucky’s. “I did this one to myself. I was running on a week with no sleep, and I had gotten myself into a mess and tried to fight someone who probably didn’t deserve it. Turns out they had a knife, and my reflexes just weren’t fast enough.”

“Must have been bad,” Bucky says. The scar stands bright against his skin.

Steve lets out a hum, and his fingers trace lightly up Bucky’s arm to the sleeve of his t-shirt. They dip under the fabric, and a shiver runs up Bucky’s back into his neck. “Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, and when Bucky looks at him, his mouth dries. Steve’s eyes are feral.

Bucky closes the gap between them. They meet—open-mouthed, delirious, and ravenous. His fist closes around the front of Steve's shirt as he pulls him closer still. Steve’s hand drops to the hem of his shirt. His hand slides underneath, and he presses his palm out against Bucky’s stomach, fingers splayed. This thumb toys with the waistband of Bucky’s sweats, and Bucky lifts his hips.

“Can I fuck you?” Steve asks, his voice ragged and uneven. Bucky can’t find the words. His body trembles against Steve. “Buck?” Steve asks, and Bucky just nods.

They make quick work getting undressed. Steve’s body is both unfamiliar and new, and Bucky runs his hands up Steve’s sides, reveling in the way Steve’s back arches at his touch. Before Steve can ask, he reaches for the lube in his nightstand. When he tries to hand it to Steve, Steve shakes his head.

“I want you to stretch yourself out first,” Steve says, and Bucky flushes. “Is that alright?”

“I’m not going to be able to come until you touch me,” Bucky whines, but he uncaps the lid of the lube anyway and squeezes some out on his fingers.

Steve watches rapturously at Bucky presses two fingers in. He pauses at the first knuckle before pushing in the rest of the way, and as he moans, Bucky sees Steve’s cock twitch. He sets a slow, steady pace, and as much as he wants to take in the Steve’s flushed face and white knuckles, he soon loses himself to the sensation. Yet even with his eyes shut, he can feel Steve’s eyes on him.

Before long, his pace is uneven, and his fingers jerk with each curl. He’s sure he looks lewd, and his eyes flutter open. Steve runs a hand up his cock, thumbing over the slit, and Bucky’s hips jerk forward, and he pulls his fingers out.

“Fuck me.”

“I need a condom,” Steve says, but Bucky shakes his head.

“Just fuck me.”

It’s all the encouragement that Steve needs, and he pulls Bucky down by his hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Without missing a beat, Bucky swings his legs over Steve’s shoulders. He reaches forward towards Steve, but Steve pushes his hand up and against the bedframe.

“If I fuck you, will you behave?” Steve asks.

“What do you want me to do?” Bucky asks, and Steve’s rocks his hips forward, his cock rutting against Bucky’s perineum but not pushing in. His body quivers, and he gasps painfully as he does his best to keep from rocking back. Instead, Bucky grabs the bedframe with his hand, gripping until his knuckles turn white.

“Stay like that. Don’t move.” Steve just continues to stare, and Bucky, too afraid to nod, bites his lip instead. When Steve finally pushes in, Bucky hears the metal of the bedframe creak under the force of his metal arm, and Steve glances at him with hazy eyes.

His head falls back, throat exposed, and Steve presses his lips to it as he bottoms out. His skin is unusually sensitive, and he arches reflexively off of the bed. Steve kisses his way up to the rim of Bucky’s ear and lets out a soft _tsk_. One hand reaches up, and he twists Bucky’s nipple between his fingers. “You’re lucky you look so pretty when you don’t listen to me.”

Steve kisses him warm and unrestrained, and for the first time, his hips rock as he pulls out and pushes slowly back in. He doesn’t say anything when Bucky’s hips meet him, but Bucky doesn’t dare to let go of the bedframe.

He comes against both of their stomachs, and Steve follows soon after. He collapses on Bucky’s chest, and from this close, Bucky can smell the sweat on him. When he pulls out, Bucky lets out a gasp and adjusts to feeling empty. Steve disappears to the bathroom but comes out a moment later with a warm wet cloth to clean them up.

Neither of them says anything, but, for the first time, the silence doesn’t feel heavy. Their heavy breaths fill the air, and Bucky rolls on his side to face Steve. “Stay with me,” he says.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says. He gets up and makes for his underwear, but Bucky grabs him by the hand and tugs him back down.

“No, I mean, in the bed. Please. Sleep with me. I need you to—” The words get caught in his throat, and he’s surprised to feel tears burn at his eyes. Steve lies down next to him and wraps his arms around him. Even with everything that’s different, the weight of them feels familiar, and it’s enough to calm him down.

Bucky’s already begun to drift off when Steve speaks. “You know that I never stopped loving you, right? I mean—you had to have known that never changed.”

Perhaps two hours ago, his answer would have been different. But right now, here in his arms, he can’t imagine saying anything else. “Of course.”

\- - -

He tells Sam before he tells anybody else. He waits two days before he does so, unable to bear the thought of sharing Steve with anybody else. But he knows that the moment is inevitable. The bubble they’ve allowed themselves to have is temporary.

Steve opens the door, and for a moment time freezes. Bucky braces himself for the inevitable barrage of words, but it doesn’t come. Instead, they throw their arms around each other and hug. “Steve Rogers in the flesh. Goddamn, I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Never thought you’d need to either. You’ve been carrying on the Cap mantle better than I could these days,” Steve says.

They melt into conversation like no time has passed, and as hard as Bucky looks for a bitter edge somewhere in Sam’s voice or expressions, he can’t seem to find one. In fact, they both seem genuinely happy. The longer it goes on, the more he can feel the resentment chipping away at him.

 _How are you not furious?_ Bucky wants to ask Sam. _He left us_.

\- - -

“I think I’m going to join Sam again,” Steve says over dinner, and Bucky nearly chokes.

“Why?” He doesn’t mean the question to come out as harshly as it does, but even Steve raises his eyebrows at it.

“I want to do something now that I’m back.” He gives Bucky a sheepish look. “I mean, obviously we’d need to figure out how. I’m not going to take the Cap name away from him.”

“He’d be thrilled to have you in any capacity, I’m sure.” Bucky says, and although Steve says nothing, his gaze turns questioning. “Spit it out. You have something on your mind.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Would you ever consider coming out of retirement? I could use you as a partner.” He catches the weight to his words and adds, “Only if you’d want to, of course.”

Bucky sets down his fork and considers. It brings a thrill through him to imagine them how they used to be—always so fluid and in sync. As much as he trusts Sam, no one has ever known him the way Steve does. The joy in it, however, evaporates soon, and an unsettled feeling kicks in instead. “Let me think about it,” Bucky says. “What made you think of joining again?”

“I just—I can’t be here and sit back.” Steve gets up and moves to the chair next to Bucky, and when Steve takes his hand in his and places the other on the small of Bucky’s back, Bucky closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“You’ve always had to be a hero about everything,” Bucky whispers. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been at the front of the line, ready to throw a punch if it comes down to it.” When his eyes open, he catches something wistful in Steve’s gaze, and the ache inside of him swallows him whole.

If Steve considers saying something, he opts not to, and his hand slips out of Bucky’s as he gets up. “I’m going to wash up.” He picks up his dish and moves to grab Bucky’s as well. “You done?”

Bucky nods.

He comes to Steve a week later with his decision. “I’m not going to join again, but if you need me for a mission, you can always ask.” Steve joins Sam’s team two days later.

\- - -

Some days are easier than others—Bucky finds. Some days, the distance between them feels palpable. Steve shrugs Bucky’s hand off of his shoulder or pretends to be out of earshot when Bucky is certain he isn’t. But as much as it hurts him, he’s afraid to push too hard.

He tries to tiptoe, but Steve has never wanted to be handled with care. He bristles when he catches Bucky doing so.

Bucky can tell that the apartment makes him claustrophobic. He’s not surprised. He remembers the feeling himself like being tethered to a place meant the walls were closing in. When he gets like that, Steve goes for a run. It doesn’t matter if it’s snowing. Steve will come back wet and teeth chattering hours later and slam the bathroom door behind him.

On nights like those, Steve waits until Bucky falls asleep to get into bed. Sometimes, if he waits too long, he falls asleep on the couch. It takes Bucky several times not to feel panicked when he wakes up and the bed beside him is empty.

But he doesn’t say anything, worrying that any word might be enough to set off a chain of events he can’t bear to repeat.

And perhaps—Bucky thinks—it’s enough that the other days are not like that. On good days, Bucky begins to wonder if he was only imagining the distance between them. While rare at first, the longer time passes, the more frequent they become.

On days like those, Bucky can almost forget that Steve left. They make excuses to lay in bed longer, pressing lazy kisses over each other’s bodies. And when Steve leaves to go to work, they build a routine, and Bucky throws his hair up in a bun and makes them both coffee as Steve showers.

On days like those, Bucky can forget that there’s anything abnormal about them.

He gets used to the feeling of Steve coming up from behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. At first, he is certain that Steve smells different than he remembers, but as time passes, he’s not so sure if he just misremembered.

They can barely keep their hands off of each other. Mornings give way to afternoons on the weekends or rare days off when Steve pushes the limits of what Bucky can take. He’s surprised to learn that there are new things that Steve likes too or things that he once did that don’t quite hit the same mark. Steve’s body feels new, but re-learning it feels like falling in love for the first time.

\- - -

Bucky begins to worry at 7:30pm.

Steve is typically good about sending him a text when he’s going to be late. The job certainly calls for it at times, so when it hits six, he feels a wave of frustration at Steve’s carelessness. At seven, the annoyance gives way to something more sinister.

When he calls Steve, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He frowns and tries twice more, but the result is still the same. Bucky paces and wrings his hands, trying to put off the feeling that something is off. At 7:45, he decides to call Sam.

It rings twice before Sam picks up. “What do you need, Barnes?”

“I was wondering whether Steve was with you.” He does his best to keep his voice steady.

“Steve left a little over an hour ago. Sorry, we got held up a little. Some scumbag was trying to— Well, anyway, not particularly interesting. He still not home?”

The cold creeps up his neck, and his mouth goes dry. Bucky shakes his head before remembering that Sam can’t see him. “No, not yet. It was just getting late, so I was wondering if you had something else going on.”

“Nothing on our end. But hey, I’m sure he’s just held up somewhere.” Sam’s voice wavers, almost imperceptibly, but Bucky catches it. “Did you try calling him?”

“He didn’t pick up.”

“Ah.” Sam lets out a quizzical hum and falls quiet. The silence between them drags out for a few seconds before Sam continues, a forced reassurance in his voice. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for letting me know, Sam.” Bucky hangs up sets his phone down on the table before walking to the bedroom, and for the first time allows himself to consider the possibility that Steve might have left again. Bucky tears apart the room looking for any sign, and even when he finds none, his throat closes. It does nothing to reassure him. There wasn’t any sign last time either. Steve left everything behind.

By eight, worry gives way to numbness, and Bucky collapses on the couch and drops his head in his hands. It was hard enough once, but the thought of doing it all over again makes his body ache. Still, he can’t make sense of it—why now when the good days finally outnumber the bad?

The sound of keys jingling in the lock makes his head spin, and Bucky stands up just as the door opens and Steve walks in with a bag over his shoulder. “Sorry I’m late. I was –” But whatever he was doing, Bucky doesn’t hear. Steve stops mid-sentence, eyes wide, the moment he sees Bucky.

“Buck, what’s wrong?” he asks, and the nausea hits Bucky so hard that he’s worried he might throw up.

“I thought you’d gone,” he croaks out, and Steve looks bewildered. “I tried to call, and you didn’t pick up. I was so sure—” He lets out a shaky laugh, and his eyes start to burn.

“I didn’t think I was going to be this late. I broke my phone today during a mission, and I just got held up after I left.” He flounders. He sets his bag on the table and steps forward, but Bucky shakes his head. The weight of it hits him full force, and his shoulders in as he starts to cry.

Steve drops his arms and stands two steps back. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

“How do I know that?” Bucky asks. “Last time you left in the middle of the night. And sometimes you shut down, and I can see the way you look, like you’re trapped.”

“I can’t help it!” Steve yells but catches himself and immediately drops his voice. “Some days I want to run, but I haven’t. I spent twenty years moving. There were weeks where I moved three times in seven days. So sometimes this apartment feels small and scary, and I think about leaving. But I saw what it did to you last time, and I can’t do that again.”

“I want to believe you when you say that, but I can’t.” The confession knocks the wind out of him. And for the first time, the underlying unease makes sense.

“Oh.” They stare at each other for a moment, and Steve walks over to the table. He pulls a glass bottle out of his bag. “Valkyrie and Thor had sent some Asgardian liquor a while back, and I had some trouble finding it after work.” He steps to the kitchen and grabs two whiskey glasses. He takes a shot from his then pours some for them both. When he walks over to the couch, he stops a foot away from Bucky and offers the glass. “I’m not going to sit next to you if you don’t want me to, but can we talk?”

Bucky takes the glass and motions to the couch but doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. His stomach feels like it won’t stop sinking. “Where do we go from here?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I do better. I don’t leave you like this in the apartment to worry.” He sighs, and Bucky takes the moment to sip the liquor. It burns at the back of his throat, and he closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“It’s not that simple. At least, I don’t think it is.”

“I know. It’s not going to happen overnight.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s not going to take more than you checking in on me. I understand where you’re coming from, and I’ve tried so hard to be patient, but I can’t forget that you left or that if I hadn’t caught you at Fury’s funeral, I would have died without seeing you again, Steve. You mean more to me than anyone else on this godforsaken planet, but I don’t trust you.”

Bucky downs the rest of his drink and runs his index finger along the rim of the glass for a moment. “I can get some more,” Steve offers, stretching out his hand, but Bucky shakes his head and stands up.

“I’ve got it.” He walks over to the table. He grabs the bottle and notices his phone for the first time. When he picks it up, he sees two missed calls from Sam and a series of texts.

 **Sam** (7:48)  
Barnes, pick up your fucking phone.

 **Sam** (7:49)  
Bucky, his phone’s busted. That’s why he’s not picking up. It was a long day, and I just forgot.

 **Sam** (7:56)  
Now would be a great time for you to check your texts!!

 **Sam** (8:02)  
Just let me know when you see this.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks. It isn’t, but Bucky knows that isn’t what he means.

“Yeah.” Bucky lets out a shaky breath and types back a response.

\- - -

It gets easier. Bucky is certain the trust won’t come back the way it was before, but they learn to lean on each other in new ways with some gentleness and give and take. It isn’t easy, and the bad days don’t disappear completely. Bucky doesn’t expect them to, but he stops waking up in an empty bed, and that feels like a step in the right direction.

“I made tea.” Steve steps over and sets it down on the table. He hovers over Bucky’s shoulder and lets out a hum. “Looks like an interesting book.”

Bucky sets it down, and Steve bends down and kisses him. The apartment feels still, and for a moment, the only thing that Bucky can think of is Steve’s lips against his and the feel of Steve’s hand against his cheek. When they pull back, he smiles. “Did you put enough lemon in it?”

“You tell me,” Steve says.

Bucky takes a sip and lets out a satisfied hum. “I’m surprised. You got it perfect.”

“I just added what I thought was a reasonable amount and then gave it a few extra squeezes.” He presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and sits down next to him. “You okay to talk? I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not.” Bucky leans back in his chair, and he lifts the mug up and cradles it in his hands, taking in the way the warmth spreads up his fingers and into his arms.

“I love this apartment, but I was thinking of getting a house,” Steve says. “It’d be nice to have the space and a backyard.” The suggestion takes Bucky aback, and a wide grin spreads across his face, and he suddenly feels light.

“You sure you could deal with the commute?”

“I’ll manage,” Steve says. The silence, warm and familiar, lingers for a moment before Steve adds, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Bucky takes another sip of his tea and closes his eyes.


End file.
